After an Afternoon
by Don'tEvenHaveAGun
Summary: AU: The notion to believe that Gym Leaders and Battle Subway Bosses were more than a means to economical succession is complete foolishness; they were built to challenge young trainers, tempting them to travel to bigger and tougher towns, having them waste money on the simple needs of shelter and food and medical care just to battle these notorious droids.
1. Chapter 1

**After an Afternoon**

**Prologue:**

"_Basic History." _

The notion to believe that Gym Leaders and Battle Subway Bosses were more than a means to economical succession is complete foolishness; they were built to challenge young trainers, tempting them to travel to bigger and tougher towns, having them waste money on the simple needs of shelter and food and medical care just to battle these notorious droids. Towns with high rankings charged more than others, and trainers were more than willing to shovel out to steep prices if it meant that they were rising in the ranks of popularity and power.

Gym Leaders and Bosses were manufactured during the first economic depression; the first generation of models were not as feeling, more robotic than what they hoped for. The Pokémon that were assigned to the models by the manufacturing companies had a hard time bonding with the artificial humanoids; with no secure bond between trainer and Pokémon, winning any matches against stronger opponents was nonexistent. Simply, the first generation model had no means to show a false sense of security to the Pokémon that they were matched with, and the Pokémon had a hard time trusting the motives of machines that were rather apathetic to whatever they did, or whatever happened to them on the field.

There was a total recall on all first generation models. There, they were rewired, and remodeled to something more human than the last. The newer generation seemed real, a little too real to most trainers that paired up against the Gym Leaders and Bosses. This left a stigma between humans and artificial intelligence; they were not trusted, and humans feared that technology was slowly taking over their jobs and their bonds between significant others and Pokémon.

Humans were not kind to Gym Leaders, Bosses, nor the ones that took on the roles as caretakers, friends for the lonely, and lovers. They were inhuman; a sign that man should never play God. Discrimination against artificial intelligence was not unheard of, rather drilled into everyday society. Anger amongst many was so great that it would result to public violence, and the dissembling of these robotic creations was not surprising. They were strung up by their wires, oil and machine grease dripping.

Now, it is a felony to even think about harming these creations. Still, it did not mean that humans would ever respect them.

These manmade products knew this, and simply complied with their role; it was the only reason they were ever assembled.

They were a product, merchandise. A pretty expensive toy, marked with a number. They will never be human.

_-x-_

_The Birth of suffrage: Elesa_

When she was first assembled, all that her memory banks could pull was a bright, shining light. Florescent tube lights garnished the ceiling, creating an even more virginal outlook to the room around her. _It was all too symbolic._ She couldn't help but to think, 'is this the meaning of feeling human?' Deciphering between Birth and life and death? No. Her mind was much too clever to belong to a mere human. Though, she has already analyzed their behavioral habits before she was ever granted a physical form.

She is promised a mobile life, and all that she can do is blink her eyes and slowly twitch her dexterous digits. She is quiet, laid out amongst a white slab that's strapped her arms and legs down to the surface – but she knows no fear, merely curious to her surroundings. That is what an A.I. is supposed to do.

"Ah, glad you're awake. I know this was not a seamless transition." The intercom crackles, a disembodied, static voice welcomes her to a world of blaring white backdrops. "I followed up on a background process, which caused your systems to black out for a good ten hours. You're lucky a backup power source and a CPU saved you. I would have been very displeased if I lost any more of your databanks; you're valuable merchandise."

Still the droid on the slab makes no comment, a flash of electric blue passes her vision; she has made her studies on the environment around her, and concluded that she was "uncomfortable" to the lack of color. Though, she never verbalizes this.

"Ah, anyways," the voice begins, "State your serial number and given product name."

The built beauty recites at ease, her voice holding no light of emotion; she was simply just there. "Serial code: 100110234. My product name is Elesa."

**A/N: OKAY! I really wanted to add to my "I Wish You Told Me Sooner" fic. This fic is only for fun, and I really do not take it seriously. It's something to keep my mind off of some college stuff. **


	2. Chapter 2

**After an Afternoon**

"_Build God; she is beautiful, after all. A mother to all."_

_-Part One-_

He buried himself under paperwork, blinded his grief with the melodies of ageratums and complex formulas that lulled the senses of math and chemistry that ran in abstract patterns in his lost mind; in a certain light, he was a god, all powerful. He knew the human anatomy like the back of his hand, quite literally; every inhale of expanded lungs, and a distant thump of a heart.

He was like the devil, he understood the principles of psychology and engineering better than any common man on the street. A humanist, but he'll deny it to his grave.

He's spent millions in his work, his own personal funding, and kept it a secret from the manufacturing company that he's dedicated all his teenage years to – along with a withering youth that blossomed to middle aged and smothered in a crisis he can't climb out of; his company already dubbed him imbalanced. Unfit for work. They gave him a season. A season to gather himself – to spend time with a daughter that's always looked to him as a fond ghost: aware that she loved him, but barely knew anything about him. Perhaps, he figured, it was for the best. Or, possibly, she needed him after, after…well. He can't think of that now!

His latest creation, his most prized possession, laid amongst him upon a metal-cold slab of chrome. He approaches the form of artificial perfection, lightly tapping the edge of his wooden clipboard to his chest; he stares, and he ponders if he should awake her, if he should be the one to play God again. Nervously, he pushes the frame of his glasses up the bridge of his nose, slowly using the same hand to reach down and trace a touch against the porcelain of a jawline.

He lingers, appreciating the gentle look of serenity and virginal innocence of a false life; he's in love, not with the creation, but with the mere memory that was attached to this frozen beauty under the blaring light of laboratory; his memories are pretty, but they are all too quick to suffocate him and distract him from reality.

Moving a hand behind the elegant curve of the droid's neck, the engineer pulls back strands of hair. Soft, and beautiful brown hair that's taken him months to replicate – he feels like he's betraying the original design. _The real woman. _His fingertips brush against wires hidden so well behind the mass of hair, activating his creation; he dared God to intervene!

Blue eyes clash against tired green, they flutter and adjust seamlessly to the harsh florescent lights that buzzed ominously in this sterile room. The engineer steps back, and anticipates the rise of the A.I. from her cot. The man has to hold his breath, and he dares not to scream in agony; he holds stoic, and he is a complete natural at doing so.

"I am alive?" The A.I.'s sweet, metallic voice strums, leaving the man to hold his breath and answer.

"State your serial code and product name." A manufacture's protocol that he's had drilled into him, he would ask this of all his creations.

"1000661129. My product name is: Elsy White." She tilts her head, garnished in a lulling, motherly smile that he hasn't seen in so long. He's tempted to throw himself to the floor, press his face against her thigh and cry; he has not seen his wife in six months. An old family ailment on his wife's side took her far too early in life; her heart was too large to belong to someone so sweet.

"Do you know why I created you? Do you know who I am?" His voice shakes, though he refuses to break under tension.

A pregnant pause, and it signifies that the A.I. is studying her environment, checking thermal readings and identifications. "You are my creator, sir. Though, through my face identification system, you are Lee White, blood type: O positive, BPM: 100 - that is abnormal." She takes a bow, patient in her unique virtue that is deemed almost eerie, "I was created as a substitute, it has come to my understanding that I was made for the sole purpose of taking care of your daughter. This is my purpose. The reason behind my existence. This is what my constructed memory told me. Mr. White, is this information correct? Please notify any misunderstandings, or I will never be able to operate at optimal conditions."

He has played God plenty. But, this time, he would enjoy it.

"_Build God; she is beautiful, after all. A mother to all."_

_-Part Two-_

Touko White was only five when she was introduced to this creation that she would call _mother _by her father_. _This new mother is just as pretty as the original; she is warm, her eyes always following her, her smile seems forgiving. But children are not incompetent. They can sense change. They know when to ask questions, too.

Touko is resentful, she despises this woman that looks like her mother; she may look like the original product, but she does not own a soul – not like her mother at all. This is what deems her unsuitable to capture the child's love, her trust in being called a role model.

Touko resists the urge to call for comfort, in fear of having this robotic woman touch her, to hold her to her chest in an awkward hug. She refuses the acknowledge childhood fears such as monsters underneath her bed, and the fear of dark spaces once the lights go off in her room every night. She rejects propositions of being read bedtime stories by the woman, attending grocery store shopping, and walks in the park. Instead, Touko seeks comfort in the arms of friend's mothers. Always wanting to spend the night with Cheren, because his mother told the best stories. Or, with Bianca, because her mother was creative and lighthearted just like her female friend.

Touko would never call this woman _mother. _She used the term _robot _freely.

Still, the replacement Elsy White would just smile that porcelain smile. Asking again, if she could be to any service to the young child. She would extend her motives innocently. She would never cause this child harm, because this was wired into her. This was her mission. Even if she heard Touko call her father late at nights, asking when he would dissemble her.

As a year passes, there's a new look to Elsy. Her smile slowly descends. Her glossy, implanted eyes are not as bright like they used to be. Her posture is not stiff, and seems almost human from far away. Perhaps, this robot was starting to understand feelings, deciphering between the chemistry of emotions. Learning in this mechanical puberty.

Elsy touches the side of her head, brushing her fingertips under synthetic hair, triggering her communicator that flashes like a holographic shield over her eyes. There's a beep, and it signals that she is gaining transmission to the other line.

She sees Touko's father on the other line, dressed in a simple lab coat, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, showing tired eyes that are rimmed red in obsessive exhaustion. He hums for a moment, bringing his attention away from the stacks of paperwork that accumulated with his workload. He adjusts his glasses, and clears his throat when he looks up.

She smiles, greeting her creator as so, as always. "Hello, Lee. Calling in for your routinely update on the condition of your daughter's everyday behavior."

"Ah, yes. And just how is Touko? Is she adjusting well into her schooling?" Lee fiddles with a couple sheets of printed paper, blueprints for the next company project that he's been assigned.

"Touko is doing just fine. She's eating her lunches that I've packed for her, and finished her homework before retiring for the night. She's perfect." A pause, and Lee slowly nods his head, accepting whatever Elsy offered.

Lee is not entirely there, his attention begins to drift again, eyes sliding over blueprints. "Did you walk her to her first day of kindergarten? She didn't seem too nervous, I hope?"

"I would not know, Lee. I suggest directing your curiosities towards Cheren's mother. Touko asked to walk with her and Cheren to school this morning."

Lee sighed, finally stacking the papers perfectly. "Oh, that's quiet alright, Elsy. I know you're doing an excellent job. I made you, of course – so I know you're perfect."

Another pause, and this time, something comes over Elsy that's never been quiet defined. Softly, she speaks, "Lee -," this catches the engineer's attention, and he swallows hard over the familiarity of that intimate voice that's died so long ago. The ground was a lot colder, he remembered, when they buried his wife six feet under.

"Yes, Elsy?" He inquires just as softly, forgetting his petty work for a rare moment.

"I want to talk to you about Touko. She's not happy. Not sick. Just not happy. She despises me, Lee. I've comprehended that much. And I've tried to act the part of the perfect mother, just like the other mothers that I observe at the park. I try to hold her, brush through her hair at night. I leave little notes of encouragement in her lunchbox every morning. Touko is so independent. I almost – envy her outlook."

_Envy. _

The engineer stuttered. Elsy is learning too fast for an A.I. He tries to calm his own nerves. This was not supposed to happen. He had to – back her memory banks. She can't feel. No. He would hear her out.

"Envy? That's a strong word for you, Elsy. Are you in need of an update? Have you been _well_?"

"I've ran my systems check six times already. Figuratively, I cannot feel well – or bad. I am not human, Lee."

"Of course," He choked. "I sometimes forget that too often." And he nervously chuckles at his own statement, and the static calm of the creation on the other line.

"Envy, yes. I envy that Touko favors the company of other maternal figures. I cannot pump blood. Perhaps we do not communicate well, because we do not share something in common such as mortality. Taunting as it is, Touko is only six – and her mentality makes her believe that I am an unnatural intruder trying to take away her love for her mother. I am not her mother." Elsy's lips thinned, "I very much want to keep learning. I want to be that mother. Though, I would never want to compare to her biological mother. Even if I was replicated in her image."

_Time heals._

Curiosity. The promise of maturity. And it takes all of Touko's will to grab Elsy's hand one Sunday afternoon, crossing the bustle of small town sidewalk. It was a chilly autumn, the smell of hickey plagued the air, and soon the smell would represent a promise of Christmas.

With one arm, Elsy carries a buddle of groceries hidden away in a paper sack, her other is tucked around a small hand of real flesh. Touko even makes a mental note that synthetic skin was so warm, so real. It scared her.

Elsy smiles, and her systems are pushed astronomically, her sensations intensify; she's never felt this brilliant emotion before. A foreign, gnawing, horrifying notion of realism. She obsesses quietly that the child is finally trusting her. That Touko came to her on her own time, in her own way, during an afternoon of autumn; she's cold, and Elsy would make sure that the child would find a source of heat.

Elsy would give Touko the moon one day, she just didn't realize it.

_Brother_

One smiles, while the other is stoic to his surroundings. The engineers wouldn't be able to tell one apart from the other if it wasn't for their barcodes that's been engraved into the backs of their necks, hidden by loose collars of starch white and black.

One could be believed shiftier than the other, nicer in comparison. A technique so similar – but brutal in the outcome.

Subway Master Nobori never smiles. Subway Master Kudari can't help himself; they've mentioned in his quota that he was designed for that purpose, creating uneasiness to the potential trainer that would be paired off with him. Kudari was designed around the motto, "kill them with kindness." Nobori, being in which, subjected to a more lethargic approach; he never bragged, he never boasted. Together, they were unstoppable. Many flocked to Gear Station just to test their wit against theirs. All have failed.

They were created under the hands of Engineer White, Touko's father. He was the madman behind the blueprints, he would make sure Gear Station got their money's worth.

"Creator?" Kudari grinned under florescent lighting, his white shoes clipping against linoleum floors, gray eyes large and judging. Mister White was taken back, almost startled by the abrupt cheeriness of an A.I. obtaining mobility.

Nobori nodded his head in acknowledge, voicing, "Creator?"

Mister White cleared his voice, "State your serial number and product name."

This was business after all.

**A/N: **I changed the mother's story from "You should have told me sooner" fic. I even mentioned Touko's father, and why she never sees him.


End file.
